A Series of Inexplicable Coincidences
by Naesy
Summary: A news story breaks out throwing Draco into immediate action. What follows is, well, 'inexplicable'. Just ask a very confused Harry Potter! DMHP. Crack, humour, romance.
1. Chapter 1

**dracoredeemed **challenged me to write a 10 000ish word fic with some prompts (an Auror fic with a warm, confident Harry) as fast as I could. The first to post would win eternal glory! And...? A fully paid sandwich. Just for them.

So, it turns out that she sort of 'won' and I owe her that sandwich. But I don't mind as, when we met earlier, she told me I looked like-- wait for it--a female Draco! Yes. Possibly the highest compliment one could ever receive! (Unless you are in fact Draco Malfoy--then you might be a bit annoyed.) Now, I don't actually look like Draco, so please don't write asking me for pictures. Seriously. The tea she was drinking at the time went to her head (Earl Grey can do that to a person).

Incidentally, I've asked her to ensure her next challenges involve me completing my WIP fics. She has kindly agreed. And I'm going to BEAT HER GOOD!!!**  
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**Disclaimer:** Full acknowledgement goes to JK Rowling for all Harry Potter characters, plots, and situations incorporated into this story. This is a not-for-profit work of fan fiction. No offence or copyright infringement intended.**  
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**Summary**: A news article breaks out throwing Draco into immediate action. What follows is, well, 'inexplicable'. Just ask a very confused Harry. DM/HP.

Features a spoilt Draco with verbal diarrhoea (but he's cute—I swear!).

**A/N:** Ignores most of the Deathly Hallows but the Elder wand aspect still took place.

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**A series of inexplicable coincidences**

By Naesy

_Monday:_

It was ten a.m. and the hustle and bustle of the Ministry was already in full swing as per usual by this time of day.

Tufts of platinum blond hair bobbed up and down quickly amongst the sea of slower moving heads on level two as Draco Malfoy, owner of the blond head, excitedly made his way from the elevator to the far end of the floor.

He wove through the mass of people, and his heart began to pound like a thunderous and accelerating timpani drum when the crowd thinned and a newly refurbished reception area came to view. It was _just_ visible beyond two large wooden doors which--never failing to fascinate Draco--repeatedly slid open whenever anyone neared.

Draco, normally one to step back and forth a hundred times in front of them to watch them half-open and then half-close, with a delighted smirk, actually resisted the urge today. Instead, he marched right on through as if the magnificent moving doors were not even remotely interesting (Well, all right. So, he released a tiny smirk; but only a _tiny_ one.).

Inside, a blonde old biddy of a woman sat behind the large front desk, her head bowed intently over a large tome, glasses on the end of her nose, and a finger absently scratching her chin. As soon as she heard the clap of shoes on the polished floor she lifted her eyes and took in the sight with a sudden yelp. She began to giggle coquettishly and uncontrollably behind her hand, her cheeks blooming into a rosy shade of red. He whisked by her, ensuring his always-mischievous eyes hovered warmly on her face, and nodded her a small, 'Hello'. Predictably, she nearly fell off her chair--at just the mere whisper of attention! But her reaction was just _perfect_ as far as Draco was concerned. The day the Ministry retired that other guy--some ancient and balding bore of a man with a stupid over-affection for the rules--was a day worth remembering. Having this woman take the old codger's place was like a blessing in _giggly old woman who just ADORED him_ disguise.

Well. Giggling aside, she certainly made things easier. That was for sure.

But he gave it all little thought today. Instead he happily moved through the second set of doors at the same fast pace.

Today, Draco was on a mission of utmost importance, and he could not be thwarted. And time was presently an issue--considering he was already four hours behind the mark. But he couldn't let that stop him from taking action, nor could he let such thoughts beat him down--not yet.

He advanced purposefully through the hallway that lay beyond, with a rolled up first edition of today's _Daily Prophet_ gripped tightly in his hand. He rounded a corner and spotted the door down the end of the hall, the words 'Auror' and 'Potter' visible almost immediately and sending a thrilling chill down his spine.

Draco smirked and quickly crossed the distance, pushing the door open a moment later. Inside, a young man with tawny-bronze skin and ruffled blue-black hair was seated at his desk rocking backwards on his chair, scratching his head with the end of a pen, and lazily reading a folded magazine that was propped up in one hand. A large coffee cup and half-eaten biscuit lay beside him on the desk.

"Chop, chop. Listen up, Potter," Draco said as he entered and made his way swiftly toward the occupied desk, barely holding back on an enormously excited grin.

The green eyes remained fixed on the page and did not drift upwards for even a second. If anything, the laidback rocking became even more pronounced.

Draco ignored the casual display and slipped his bottom onto the opposite desk. He swung a leg as he began to relay his news: "The Davidson file has just become priority number one. _Numero uno_. That's Italian for Draco Malfoy knows everything and has his finger on the pulse. Right--" he clapped his hands together "--here's the scoop. Looks likes Davidson's on the move. I've got some hot leads, and some new evidence has just come to light." He leaned back and waved a knowing hand through the air. "I'm thinking it might be organised crime; perhaps Davidson's using false businesses to cover his illicit activities. Illicit of the most_ illicit_ kind. That means it's critical we get onto this ASAP, Potter. I suggest a stake-out. Undercover, of course. We can use one of those cars the Ministry now has at their disposal. I'm thinking silver. With leather interior. The ones that have the buttons that make the windows go up and down. If we hurry, we can get a move onto this straight away. They'll _never know _what hit them. We should start out Brighton way, along the coast. There, we'll have to stop for a bit. Scope the scene. There's no time to waste; we--we must make haste! Heh, heh... That _rhymed_! And yes, yes--I know, I know. It's a plan made of brilliance, pure brilliance. The whole thing. That's already clear to me." Draco crossed his arms and smirked. "So. What do you say…? Now or now?"

Potter did not look up. Instead he chewed on the end of his pen, rocked his chair back and forth twice more, and then put the magazine down on top of his desk to reveal a half complete Quidditch crossword. "Malfoy?" he drawled calmly as he leaned over the magazine and carefully penned an answer in some blank squares.

"Yes?"

Potter minutely raised an eyebrow and penned in another word, still not looking up. "There is no Davidson file."

Draco knew that might have been a problem. He reclined backwards a little on the desk. "Are you sure?" he said flippantly.

Potter nodded at his magazine. "Oh, I'm quite certain of it."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Well, maybe... maybe there _should_ be one."

Potter went back to rocking and chewing his pen, his magazine back in his hand and his eyes fixed once more on his puzzle. "Mm," Potter said noncommittally. "Does this Davidson person you speak of even exist?"

Draco frowned and looked out the window, deciding now was a very good time to inspect the weather.

"Malfoy…?"

"Well, who is to say when one exists and one does not? What even _is_ existence, Potter? I mean… can we define it? Can we obtain it? Can we control it? Can we hold it? What even is knowledge? And reality, for that matter? Who's to say that our sense of what is currently taking place right this minute is not a dream or a wild hallucination."

Potter remained silent at first, still deeply engrossed in the puzzle, his pen again scratching across the magazine surface. "So you made this Davidson character up then?"

Draco sat uncomfortably for a moment. "What's your point, Potter?"

Potter stretched his muscular arms above his head and settled back comfortably in his chair; this time, resting a spectacular pair of Italian black leather shoes--one on top of the other--onto his desk. Draco gaped a little at their style and quality but then switched his eyes back to Potter, though Potter was yet to even glance Draco's way, eyes for his magazine and his magazine alone. Right now, all Draco could see was luminous green through the veil of long midnight lashes.

"My point...?" Potter began. "My point is... that you don't even _work_ here, Malfoy." He began to rub the barely-there stubble that was just beginning to appear on his face. "_That's_ my point." Another answer was scrawled onto the page.

Draco pursed his lips together and drummed his fingers on the desk beside him. "Okay. Right. So you're a details man. I get it now. But details can get in the way of making a difference, can't they? Of saving people and all of that. I'm certain you know this, _and_ I'm certain you still care about waffle like that, Potter. And people's lives are always at stake when you're an Auror, Potter; their _lives_. And for that reason alone, we can't be idle--we cannot. We must take action. We must _take_ the moment and _seize_ it. And seizing it right now would involve a stake-out," Draco nodded sharply, "and a silver car. With buttons. Definitely with buttons. And Brighton. Definitely Brighton. And scoping; much, much scoping. As soon as possible. In fact, _right_ away." Another nod and then more reclining with the swinging of a leg. "I'm sure you'll agree."

Potter put his pen down, yawned, and then stood to his feet, again stretching. He tipped his head to each side to ease an apparently stiff neck and then said, while moving languorously around the side his desk: "What I think is… that I need to show you something, Malfoy; something _very_ important."

Draco's eyes widened. "What? What?" Excitement and intrigue exploded inside of him. "What is it? What is it?"

Potter headed to the coat rack by his bookshelf and grabbed his jacket and draped it over his arm. "Come over here," he said, waving Draco over and quickly glancing his way.

Fireworks erupted in Draco's belly. He quickly dropped his feet to the floor and practically _galloped_ over to where Potter was presently standing, reaching up to collect his bag from the very top shelf.

"This way," Potter then said to him with hand motioning towards the door. Together they walked across his office and Draco's head began to fill with all sorts of images of where Potter might be taking him, of how Potter might look when they arrived there, of what he and Potter might look like _together_ as they embarked on their journey.

Then Potter stopped and finally looked down at Draco from his two inch advantage; eyes green, intense, and determined… and maybe-- maybe even _twinkling_ a little.

This was going _much_ better than expected.

And then Potter opened his mouth and spoke in that deep and coarse voice of his; the one that made every molecule of magic vibrate inside Draco's body: "Do you see this, Malfoy?" Draco's eyes dropped and followed Harry's motioning hand. "This… is a door. It opens… just like this." He clasped the handle and pulled it open. "And do you know what you do with a door like this one? You walk through it, Malfoy. You walk through it and you never re-enter it again. That's what you do."

With that, Harry Potter walked out. And left Draco standing there, shock and horror rooting him to the floor. Draco watched as the other man strolled comfortably down the last section of the long corridor and rounded the corner, his tall and broad body disappearing out of sight.

Draco gripped the newspaper more tightly in his fist, his whole face crumpling under the force of extreme anger. After a second he looked down at the squashed paper he was holding and decided to unravel it. He held it open with two hands and ran his eyes hungrily across the front story, his face slowly smoothing out once more.

He took in a deep breath and stuffed the paper into his back pocket, setting his jaw determinedly.

_Oh, this is far from over. _Far_ from it, Potter._

He quickly began to fashion a Plan B.

TBC... 


	2. Chapter 2

_Tuesday:_

Harry shuffled along with his lunch tray on the counter, running his eyes over the bain maries in front of him, each one overloaded with fatty meats or dried-out vegetables. He grimaced and shook his head. It all looked very unappetising and he made a vow to bring his lunch to work from now on.

"Oh, I _know_. The food here is one step away from a pig's trough, isn't it? You'd think that under the bumbling yet friendly new rule of that Weasley patriarch we'd be gifted with food that is at least of substance; food that is at least of some nutritional value; food that is at least unlikely to induce a bout of retching. Honestly. It's _disgraceful_, that's what it is," the clipped, superior tone continued. "I'm certain the Wizengamot should be involved. Laws should be drafted. People should pay. Punishment should most certainly be dealt out." Harry did not look over. The voice was unmistakable. The words, unfortunately, even _more_ so. "Atrocities under the very roof of the Ministry should _never_ take place. And certainly not atrocities of _this_ nature. Not when the workforce here toils daily under their forceful hand. Slaving away for them, ha! …And _this_ is the thanks we get?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah?" Malfoy replied distractedly, hunting through the large basket of bread rolls; he was digging right into the bottom with an eager and determined look on his face.

"You don't work here."

"Where?" he muttered absently, bread rolls going everywhere.

"_Here_." Harry stepped sideways, moving further along the line. "At the place where you're currently standing. The _Ministry_."

Malfoy happily found the perfect bread roll (his elated grin was something else altogether): a double-sized one with a scattering of sesame seeds on top. He placed it lovingly on his plate and even patted the top of it affectionately once he was done. "What's _that_ got to do with anything?" he finally snapped in response, his face screwing up in discontent.

"Well," Harry grabbed a spoonful of mashed potato and upended it on his plate. "This is a staff café, you see. For _staff_."

"Yeah, well I'm as _good_ as, aren't I?" he replied. "I'm here on a_ selfless_ basis, Potter; it's a mission of good will. A _voluntary _mission of good will. Out of the kindness of my heart. And all without any thought of return. People get awards for things like that. You could consider it community service."

Harry snorted. "What? Eating in the Ministry's food hall. For _free_?"

Malfoy nodded crisply. "I do what I can. It would be a sad waste to not offer my services for the greater good of the people--wouldn't it, Potter? Talents such as mine are not just handed out willy-nilly." He paused thoughtfully. "I think I'll start with detailing their many flaws with regards to the food and move on from there. I'm thinking of offering my services in the visionary area, next. I've_ many_ ideas. All of them good. I could take this place to new heights, Potter, _new heights_. Everyone would be thanking me. There'd be big fancy dinners and much applause. They wouldn't know what _else_ to do."

"Right." Harry lifted his tray and began to tread a path that was wonderfully _away_ from Malfoy and _towards_ the tables down the other end… only to note that he soon had a blond shadow by his side. "Hold up." Harry stopped. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To sit at a table, Potter." He looked around the area and gestured broadly towards the people busy eating. "I hear it's what most do when they eat. Merlin. Even Muggle scientists recommend it." His gaze on Harry narrowed. "Digestion is a terribly important bodily function, Potter! These are things that I know." He sighed as if trying to educate fools. "Look. One must remain fairly still while the body ingests a full plate of food. It aids the stomach in processing it all. Helps break down everything you've just quaffed. _Honestly_... You know--" he shot a frustrated glare at Harry "--you _really_ should look it up some time, Potter."

"Not mine," Harry deadpanned.

Malfoy hesitated and then laughed, quirking an eyebrow. "Not your _what_?"

Harry raised an unimpressed brow and said firmly: "Not at my _table_. You're not sitting at my table."

"Potter?" He chuckled. "Don't _fool_ yourself! I'm merely looking for the best seat in the house. Who can predict where that might be? It could be here, it could be there, it could be anywhere," he said, motioning his hand about. "Rest assured that, when I find it, it will have _nothing _to do with you."

"Good." Harry turned sharply away from him and headed in the opposite direction. He slipped between outstretched chairs and long emptying tables and made his way into the far reaches of the hall. There, he found a vacant table huddled in the corner to the side of a large window. He sat down and twisted open the lid on his drink, took a sip, and released what had been a tensely-held breath. Just as he was ripping off a piece of bread, dipping it into his stew, and popping it into his mouth, the chair beside him scrapped backwards and, 'lo and behold', Draco Malfoy lowered himself into it.

"It was a close call between this seat and another. But I think the lighting is better over here, what with the sunlight hitting this area indirectly." Malfoy wiggled into his seat some more and looked about. "Yes, the lighting is _definitely_ better here. It's less harsh; much softer. Lighting is _terribly_ important, Potter; particularly when one is trying to see their food. It just wouldn't _do_ to be blinded by glare when attempting to locate the potatoes on your plate, would it now?" Malfoy began to nod gravely. "In fact, I'm sure discomfort caused by lighting could adversely affect digestion too." He sighed and shook his head worriedly (presumably at the many dangers one encountered in the world when attempting successful digestion), and then unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap with a content-sounding exhalation of air. …While Harry chewed his mouthful of bread with a troubled expression. Frowning, he slipped another portion of bread into his mouth and spied on Malfoy out the corner of his eye.

Draco Malfoy had never looked _happier_. There he was… wiggling his fingers over his plate of food, not certain which morsel to try first. He selected his _beloved_ bread roll, buttering it carefully, and then sinking his teeth in slowly for his first bite. His eyes fell closed, his head tipped back, and his face lifted into an expression of sheer elation as he unhurriedly chewed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

What on earth was going on? This was getting stranger and stranger.

oooo

"...and _that's_ why only extremely powerful wizards can cast such a challenging hex. Which makes me wonder why on earth it's even _illegal_. You know, my father would always question things such as that. He's very wise about such things, Potter. 'Draco,' he'd say. 'You will note through life that…'"

Harry stared at a smudge on the wall in front of him and ate his food like he was slowing drowning, sinking further and further under the table with each passing second. While Malfoy merely broke new ground with every new word he uttered.

"...Like those stupid, _weirdo_ half-breeds!" Malfoy snapped. "I mean, what's _wrong_ with them? How on earth do they even _mate_? Like, what goes _where_? And--and _how_? I mean take a goblin… and--and a _centaur_... "

_Oh. Just. KILL. Me. Now._

Only Harry suspected that a much-needed quick and timely death was unlikely to come to his rescue any time soon.

Malfoy scooped some potato up onto his fork and waved it around like it was an aeroplane, before shoving it into his mouth, munching quickly, and then continuing his non-stop talk, happily and contentedly, barely pausing for breath: "'And, my son, _that_ is the truth of the matter,' Father would say. 'Soon you will learn that the gifted and most worthy amongst us are _born_ to it. And we always rise to the top, for it is our _place_ in this world…'"

Harry felt the familiar old flame of anger, sparked by all things 'Malfoy', light up exponentially at the lovely _gallons_ of fuel Draco Malfoy was presently throwing his way.

Born _to it? Oh, really...? Is_ that _how the Malfoys got to where they are today?_ Harry thought gruffly. _Ha!_

Life after the war for _that_ delightful little family went as follows:

It began with a quick and easy trial in which not one of them was incarcerated thanks to a timely (mid-way through the final battle) and highly convenient (no more Horcruxes and Voldemort suddenly looking extremely weak) change in their alliances. After this, the Ministry's attempt to put a freeze on their finances and secure their assets met with lawyer resistance. Lawyer resistance of the 'twenty lawyers strong' variety. Needless to say, the Malfoys went on to enjoy life in its entirety--they were not left wanting for much after the war; that was for sure.

Eight months ago, Draco Malfoy, Harry's self-made enemy since he was eleven, showed up at the Ministry, six months after the legal battle and one year after war. He'd strolled into Harry's office with his aristocratic nose reaching new levels of air space and draped himself casually across Harry's leather chair by his office window. And Harry had immediately regretted providing evidence at his trial to help clear Malfoy of any wrongdoing with regards to Dumbledore's death--all before Malfoy had _even said a word_. But he went on to; Malfoy most certainly went on to (and he'd barely shut up since). That day, Malfoy cocked a pale eyebrow at Harry from Harry's couch, opened his mouth, and expected Harry to enter into a light and happy conversation about _how abysmal Harry's choice of spells in the final battle apparently were_. Going into great detail about it. Explaining all the how's, rattling off the list of why's, and outlining all the various should have's. But Malfoy wasn't done. Not even close. He then let roll with: "So, were you born with an overdeveloped sense of brilliance and self-importance, based on no evidence to ever support this, or is your arrogance something that has merely come with age?"

That first day, Harry had stared at Malfoy murderously through it all, before slowly standing to his feet, maintaining his gaze with unblinking intensity, and saying, "Get... _out_," in his deepest and most earth-rumbling voice.

It worked.

But Malfoy eventually returned... The second time Malfoy had dropped on by to say 'hi', Harry had managed to keep writing his case report for fifteen minutes as if he were peacefully alone in the room. He hadn't realised, however, that Malfoy never ran out of steam, and when it all became too much, Harry stood and swiftly extricated a wiggling, "Unhand me at once! Just--_Potter_...? Get your paws off me!" Malfoy from his office, giving strict instructions to then receptionist, Graham, to never let the idiot through the front warded doors again. But somehow, Malfoy found a way back in--he _always_ found a way back in. Typically, he appeared in Harry's office to taunt and sneer at him about once every two to three months. Until Graham retired and a new receptionist was hired. _Then_, with dear old Rose at the helm, Malfoy's visits had merely _quadrupled_.

The fact that Malfoy was (and had, thus far, continued to be) 'mostly' harmless was the only thing keeping Harry's (and Shacklebolt's) sanity in check. Malfoy's lack of obvious and immediate harm might have also kept Rose in a job too. That woman should be thanking her lucky stars right now.

But two Malfoy visits in two days? Harry shook his head. That was unheard of.

Luckily, Harry had learned through it all that he was in fact quite gifted at ignoring the human insult-machine, treating Malfoy's voice as nothing more than white noise. And when the white noise finally began to grate too much, Harry was not even opposed to the odd hex to make Malfoy leave, though he used these tactics sparingly. Malfoy's look of sudden awe whenever Harry cast a minor wandless spell was a little unsettling to even him.

"...Because Hogwarts would _really_ benefit from a system like that, Potter. It's as clear as day to me... I could have been Headmaster, you know, _if_ I'd have wanted such a job..."

Harry chewed his food like it had, somehow, become even _more_ tasteless.

He knew that Malfoy had not taken up a career as yet, instead choosing to live in and accept all the luxuries that the Manor (and his crazy parents) had to offer.

But, _really_... Boredom must be so _very_ trying for the rich and brainless! Oh how Harry's heart bled and _ached_ for them. If only there was something the world could _do _for them all?

Harry frowned. Malfoy obviously couldn't go a day without taunting a Potter, lording over a half-blood, or sneering a Muggle into a complete and utter breakdown. Oh, yes... Harry imagined Malfoy's program of boredom-busting reached _far_ and _wide_.

If only it didn't include _him_.

But yesterday? And today? Something had changed. It had all felt different. And Harry's resolve had slightly weakened; his ability to ignore the git was being sharply tested.

First of all, Malfoy had begun to sprout out all that rubbish about a made-up case and, of all things, Auror _field _work. Of course, the silver car with buttons thing didn't even deserve a mention.

Secondly, Malfoy had appeared in the lunch hall, and was now sitting next to Harry, blithering on about the most inane, codswallop of things, as if they'd been friends since birth.

Finally, though there was the same arrogance and tendency to talk ad nauseum, there were no sneers. No sneers at all. Not the real ones at least. Even more alarming, there were very few insults aimed at Harry amongst it all. And... if Harry wasn't mistaken, Malfoy almost appeared to be--to be _sharing_. Information. About himself. With Harry. As if Harry might actually _care_. ("…This stew is so tough that you could turn it into leather. _Bad_ leather, of course. You wouldn't catch me wearing it. Nothing but the finest quality of anything ever gets near _this_ body. I'd have to say cashmere and Egyptian cotton would be my favourite materials, though. I mean, of course leather has its place. As does Indian silk, and fine wool…") And, though Harry found it best not to look at Malfoy--ever, this was proving harder than usual to do. There was… a _light _about Malfoy--yesterday and today. There was even a bloody _spring _in his step.

Altogether, it was extremely odd.

"…that's what my house-elf always says. '_Hi_ there, Master Malfoy!' he says. Just like that. He jumps out of--out of _nowhere_ and says, '_Hi_ there!' In a loud squeaky voice. Can you believe it...? What an _idiot_! Of course, I always say, 'Oh, what do _you_ want?!' And he jumps back three feet. And it all gets very trying, let me tell you; _very_ trying indeed…"

_A-ha. Riiiight._ No matter how 'different' Malfoy had been these past two days, it seemed the overall effect on Harry was precisely the same.

Harry gave up on ignoring him and instead went for the very appealing: abrupt departure. He stood to his feet--his chair screeching painfully across the floor--and he swiftly walked away.

TBC... 


	3. Chapter 3

_Wednesday:_

"Oh, it's _you_ again." Malfoy sighed in enormous frustration as he walked towards Harry with a rolled up newspaper in his fist--though to be honest, he didn't look entirely broken up about 'coincidentally' crossing paths with Harry, yet again. In fact, to Harry, he almost looked bloody _giddy_.

Harry was seated on a wide stone wall with his bag at his feet, half-way along a small, deserted laneway that was lined with trees. He was, essentially, in the middle of _nowhere_.

"Yes," Harry said, drawing his brows together as the blond figure approached. "I often appear on the trail of a case that I am actually paid to work on." Harry paused and looked away despairingly. "It's a problem I have. I'm not sure how to get help for it." Harry then exhaled in a manner that screamed: "NOT again!" Although he didn't scream such things out loud. Instead he frowned at the road in front of him and let his voice drop an octave, tiredly saying: "What are you _doing_ here, Malfoy?"

"Me? Why I was just going for a leisurely stroll," he said, taking his last few casual strides towards Harry.

"Mm. In Leeds? At least two hundred miles away from Wiltshire, where you live?"

"Yes. Why...?" Malfoy allowed his eyes to take in the scenery. "Where _else_?" he asked lightly, his eyes bright as they slid up and down the street, and then up at the trees.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head in a sign of his mind reaching the brick wall of Malfoy-incomprehension and wisely deciding to give up.

Malfoy brightly planted his bottom on the stone wall, right beside Harry. He leaned back on his elbows and swung one foot lazily--the heel hitting the stone face. He sighed happily. "So." He looked around from left to right. "What are we staking-out at the moment here?"

Harry glared at him. "Malfoy. _We_ are not staking-out anything. _I_ am sitting on a wall conducting confidential Ministry business while _you_ are interfering."

Malfoy glanced up at the sun and squinted. "Good day for it, though, don't you think? It was predicted to rain. Weather's been so miserable lately. All that drizzle we had in April continuing on into June. It's nice to see the sun for a change." Harry's forehead wrinkled as the git continued. Malfoy was sitting here, talking about the weather with him. Sitting here with Harry, miles away from the Ministry where he usually fronted up out of nowhere to taunt him.

Here, where Harry was working on a bloody _case_.

"Potter? Potter? _Hello_?"

Harry replied sardonically, not entirely convinced that communing with the man was wise at this point in time--at _any_ point in time: "_What_, Malfoy?"

"I was merely pointing out that this is hardly a covert operation. Surely you've noticed. We _are_ sitting in the broad daylight on a stone wall across from a house like a pack of glaringly obvious thieves. And there is no silver car in sight, which means we're _buttonless_. Honestly. You're lucky I came along to save the day. At the very least, I think we should cast some sort of Glamours on ourselves. Immediately. So. What do you think? Should I go with tall, dark and handsome, or perhaps--"

"No," Harry cut in.

"_No_? Why not?"

"_Because_." Harry rubbed an eye distractedly.

Draco waited. He waited a while longer. A whole two seconds. "Because what?" he asked, unable to hold it in.

"Because," Harry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he would regret this immediately, "because I want the suspect to _see_ me watching him."

Malfoy's eyes lit up. "Ooooh. Why? Why? Oh! Oh! Hoping to elicit some sort of fight with him…? Aggravate him into coming out and telling you to go away? You always did like to get into fisticuffs, Potter, although you never appeared to consider any of it in a strategic manner before. How very _Slytherin_ of you, Potter; and only two years out from a highly non-strategic war. Who knew? Now. Do you intend to wallop him one for size or go with a wandless and particularly nasty hex? I hear you're quite the wandless wizard these days. I'd suggest going with the nasty hex; that way I can even suggest which hexes to go for. I know _many_. All of them good." He smiled to himself then, enjoying his moment in the sun. "So? Which will it be?"

"Neither, Malfoy."

"_Neither_?"

Harry yawned. "I'm not planning to hurt him, you idiot. Just. Look. He's scared of me. Pettigrew. Always has been. Well, he's scared of most, to be honest. Even his own shadow. My plan was just to come out and, well, eat sandwiches in front of his house--you know, looking completely relaxed while I did it. Actually, I thought it would be a good break from the office, mostly. And the weather was a bit enticing today too." Harry paused realising he'd shared quite a bit. Perhaps too much. "Anyway, he'll be so petrified that he'll come out eventually and give me all the information he's been keeping under tight lip," he quickly muttered.

"Hhmm." Malfoy nodded, letting it all sink in. "Oh! Want me to sneer a bit to add to the fear factor? I'm _very_ good at sneering, Potter! Always have been! I used to frighten small children when I was only _twelve_. My father always said that when I narrowed my eyes on someone I could put the fear of God into them--like this one six-year-old, younger brother of some Hogwarts student. Standing near me while we were waiting on platform nine and three-quarters at the beginning of one year. Almost jumped out of his skin when I death-stared him. Cried a bit after that. Father was so proud. I was only eleven." He sighed affectionately and looked longingly at some far away spot. "Good times."

"Yeah. _Nice_, Malfoy."

Malfoy glared at Harry. "Yeah, well, it _was_ nice and it still _would_ be. If only you hadn't won the war, made us all change sides and put a stop to all that was fun and slightly evil. Now the world is a dull shade of _grey_, Potter. Grey. And _paisley_. How do you feel about _that_?" He swept an arm dramatically through the air to indicate his surroundings. "You've turned the whole landscape of magic in this country--and abroad--into grey shades of paisley."

Harry shot out a short and humourless laugh. "Yeah, good news, Malfoy. _You_ are still an evil bloody prat, through and through."

Draco surveyed him carefully out of the corner of his eye, his eyes harbouring a new sparkle to them. "Really? You--you think so?"

Harry stretched his arms out and twisted on the spot, limbering up his muscles. "Absolutely."_ Especially_ the 'prat' part. "Not even I can put a stop to that." _Especially_ the 'prat' part.

"Oh. Well, good, then." He sighed and relaxed some more in the sun, his leg recommencing with the lazy swinging motion, the thud of his heel hitting the wall continuing on in earnest. Before he cracked an eyelid open. "Wait. Why are you always stretching?!" he suddenly complained. "...Stretching and yawning around me, Potter?!"

"Well, I'm not so sure but maybe because... _you put me to bloody sleep_, Malfoy," Harry replied sarcastically. Harry then rested his chin glumly in his hand, with his elbow now propped up on a leg.

"Well, _stop_ it. It's very annoying."

Harry cut him a long look. And then he indulged in a long and very enjoyable stretch. He might have even smirked a bit at the end there, too.

But Malfoy went on as if Harry had followed his wishes to the letter. "Now. Where are these sandwiches you were referring to? Potter?" Harry wondered if death-by-Malfoy was a known medical phenomenon. "Well? Well? Where are they? Where are they?"

Harry huffed and closed his eyes, dropping his head backwards and letting out a bone-weary moan.

"Oh, come on, come on. Don't hold off on me here, Potter. I can significantly add to the reclining sandwich-eating look. I'll help you out... I'm _very_ good at looking relaxed. Brilliant at it, actually! I always have been."

"Let me guess. Your _dad_ told you this?"

"_No_." He scowled at Harry. "He didn't need to, did he? It's something I've always known. Honestly. It was hard for me not to, Potter. People actually _fall over each other_, just to watch me eat. Unlike most--" he sniffed "--I eat my food in a manner that is not revolting; instead, it's _enticing_. I make it an art form, you know--like most things I do. It just comes naturally…"

Harry was dreaming of beaches. With white, white sand... And still blue water; the colour of tranquility--a rich blue-green that was almost transparent and sparkled like it was made of jewels whenever it was touched by the sun... Tiny waves, gentle as they rolled forward and lapped softly at the shore's edge, pulling back to reveal shiny wet sand beneath... And shady palm trees that swayed drunkenly in the breeze...

And no Malfoys. Most importantly--no Malfoys. No Malfoys for miles and miles on end...

"…Besides. A Malfoy and a Potter eating sandwiches together...? _Ha_! On a wall...? In the middle of Leeds...? Looking very relaxed...? _Right _outside your house...? Well--" he brushed some lint off his shirt, "--I imagine that's likely to further worry any frightened and failed sycophant of the Dark Lord… Don't you think?"

Harry sat up a bit at that. He glanced over at Malfoy. And then he listened on with a small awakening of interest.

"…Especially where that Dark Lord was one that died almost two years earlier... at the hands of _one of the actual sandwich eaters_..."

_Huh._

Oddly... Malfoy _did_ have a point. For once.

"…that person, of course, being _me_," Malfoy added, smiling softly up at the midday sun. "Though I suppose you helped vanquish the Dark Lord in your own way, too..."

_Oh my... Good _God. Harry barked out a laugh. Well... of course! Why didn't Harry ever imagine Malfoy would take full credit for the Elder Wand?! That Malfoy would see himself and himself alone as being the one responsible for Voldemort's downfall. As if... as if he _wouldn't_?!

...Merlin but the man was an _idiot_.

"Just because the wand was yours at one point, Malfoy, doesn't mean--"

"Precisely," Malfoy interjected heatedly. "I was the ruler of the most powerful wand in history for a significant measure of time. Everyone knows this, Potter. And Pettigrew knows this, too."

Harry groaned--so Malfoy had been, all this time, harbouring delusions of grandeur, had he? Well, _more_ delusions, that is; more than even Harry had first thought. But Harry wasn't in the mood to fight the idiot about such things--because Harry knew he would most certainly lose. No one could go head to head with the tireless will of _this_ one and think they had a chance of coming out on top.

Plus... Harry was actually inclined to agree with what Malfoy had earlier suggested: Pettigrew _would_ be more shaken with a Malfoy out front. Perhaps with Malfoy here, Harry could be back in the office by the end of lunchtime, and he'd have the paperwork wrapped up in time for Carol's birthday drinks.

"Fine. Here." Harry reached into his bag and tossed Malfoy a clear lunch bag.

Malfoy caught it skilfully and tore it open. His face then fell. "What--_tuna_…? On--on _pumpkin_ bread…? Are you _mad_...? Hold on a... What's that you've got on yours?" He reached a hand over to still the sandwich in Harry's moving hands and gasped at what he saw. "That's chicken! And--and brie. With thyme. And… cranberry sauce! Potter? How _could_ you?"

Harry glared at him. "Malfoy. Just eat your damn sandwich before I shove it down your throat by way of magic and forget to halt the spell and ask you to chew." Harry dragged his fingertips tiredly down the side of his face and spoke wearily: "You're lucky to even _have_ it."

Malfoy frowned and sank backwards. "_Fine_. But you had better have something worthwhile to wash this rubbish, poorly disguised as a sandwich, down with."

"Forget it. You are _not _getting any of my juice," Harry replied tightly.

"What?" His whole forehead crinkled under the 'extreme' and 'unfair' treatment. "What kind of a host _are_ you?"

"A _bad_ one. Look. Malfoy? What are you even _doing_ here? Surely you have something better to do than--than _stalk_ me!" Harry rubbed two hands frustratingly through his hair, roughly moving the thick hair about, and then he gripped some of his strands in tightly curled fists and tugged fiercely at it. "Like--like watch the high-priced wallpaper slowly peel from the walls in the entire west wing of your mansion," he muttered. "Otherwise known as your 'bedroom'... Or--or make small, innocent children, who never did anything at any point in their entire lives to ever deserve anything so bad, so afraid that they _cry_."

Malfoy's eyebrows swung together and he parted his mouth to release his furious reply, but then his opportunity to do so was swiftly stolen. The sound of a door creaking open reached them, breaking up their intense, eye-glaring fight.

A nervous, bent-over character scampered from front door to behind a bush in his front yard. He peered at them anxiously from beneath a leafy branch and everything went still.

TBC... 


	4. Chapter 4

"YES!" was the very next thing Harry heard as Malfoy punched a fist elatedly into the air in response to what Harry could only assume were feelings of 'victory' with regards to having Pettigrew suddenly appear. He chuckled happily beside Harry, sitting like a king on his wall, his hands full of sandwich and his mouth full of smirk. 

"Malfoy..." Harry admonished wearily and, giving his neck yet another work out today, he shook his head solemnly at Malfoy.

But... actually... Now that Harry thought about it, Pettrigrew _had_ come out a lot quicker than Harry would have first anticipated. Not that Malfoy was to thank, though--not really. Well, not unless Pettigrew heard Malfoy ranting and raving about nothing out here too, and wanted the pain to end just as quickly as Harry. If that was the case, then the credit really was due to Malfoy--_entirely_.

Harry turned his head away from the cheerful, bloody _glowing _idiot and instead stared at the new crouched figure in front of them, hovering timidly behind the tree... as if it actually _hid_ him.

"Pettigrew? We can _see _you."

That was Malfoy. Apparently he was now heading this investigation.

"Come on over and _'fess_ up," Malfoy then called out in a cheeky drawl, clearly delighted to have been provided with the opportunity to not only say such things to a wanted man but to say them in a rich, gloating tone. Only he _hadn't_ been provided with the opportunity; he'd _stolen_ it. Harry glared at the idiot to let him know, but his attention was quickly redirected to Pettigrew who _was_ now in fact scuttling towards the front gate, albeit with great trepidation. Of course, Malfoy beamed lazily beside him at that--as if he'd orchestrated all that he now saw before him, his shoe swinging happily against the wall, the _thud-thud_ now as familiar a sound as Malfoy's ever-constant and ever-_inane_ natter.

Pettigrew opened the gate, finally affording Harry with a good view of him. And Merlin, didn't he look 'worse for wear'. Tiny: he was incredibly tiny. Perhaps even malnourished--_severely_ so. In fact, he looked more rat-like now than ever. Well, if you exclude those times when he actually _was_ a rat.

For not the first time in Harry's life he found himself feeling a little sorry for the man--so spineless that he'd been used by more deranged idiots than perhaps anyone else on the face of this earth. Not that Harry was about to invite him over for dinner or send him Christmas cards, mind you; he'd still done some terrible things, _awful _things, and therefore Harry's sympathy certainly had its limits. But the sympathy was still there.

Harry sighed. "Come here, Pettigrew," he said in a delicate voice.

Pettigrew was a shaking mess as he moved. "P-please!" he muttered. He clasped his hands together--one silver and shiny; the other housing five long and dirty fingernails. He cowered in fright before them, nearly falling to his knees. "I-I'll t-tell you w-what you w-want to kn-know, just d-don't h-hurt me, p-please!"

"We'll _think_ about it," Malfoy said darkly, crunching his knuckles, the foot still swinging joyfully away.

"Oh good grief," Harry mumbled under his breath as he shoved his half eaten sandwich back into his bag and stood to his feet, brushing his hands on his pants. "Look. Pettigrew? You need to start talking." Harry pushed his sleeves up carefully and methodically, one after the other--an old tactic but a good one. "Tell me where Mulciber is and we'll forget your involvement in that robbery ever happened."

"B-but, P-Potter? He'll--he'll k-kill me!" Pettigrew stammered. "He'll k-ki--"

"Not if we get to you _first_," Malfoy said in an ominous yet somehow, also, _carefree_ tone, still perched happily on the wall and speaking through a mouthful of food. That is, chicken, brie, thyme, and cranberry-sauce food now, by the look of it.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry barked over his shoulder. "Listen, Pettigrew... Mulciber's numbers are growing weaker by the minute. You _know _this. Half his supporters perished in that fire at the wharves last week. And the remaining ones are starting to scatter; _they_ know it's just a matter of time before he goes down too." Harry tilted his head and cut him a grave but serious look. "I know he had you under Imperious during that heist. We've got evidence that practically proves it. If you cooperate, you'll be cleared; in fact, we wouldn't even have to draft the charges. Pettigrew? You came through for us during the war." Harry halted. "Well. _Eventually_, that is. And I haven't forgotten. We could put you under some protection. Auror protection. You'd be safe. But... if you side with him...? Pettigrew...?" Harry locked eyes solidly with Pettigrew's nervous watery ones, using the same gaze he'd used on Voldemort towards the end. All time for playing 'nice cop' was now over. "Make no mistake, Pettigrew." His voice was rough and low; he ground the words out slowly, each one simmering with a raw power that even Harry knew was palpable. "You're future will be... very... bleak."

"_Very_ bleak," Malfoy echoed before swallowing his current mouthful and then taking a full swig of Harry's juice. Harry looked up pleadingly at the sky for a moment and then rested his eyes on Pettigrew once more.

"O-okay, o-okay," Pettrigrew quickly muttered. "I'll t-tell you, H-Harry. I'll t-tell you. He's… he's at the abandoned l-lighthouse. F-four miles down from the w-wharves. He-he's injured, H-Harry. The-the f-fire… hurt him too. He… he can't Apparate… He's too w-weak."

"And you were _scared_ of him?" Malfoy yelped. "Ha! Good _God_, man!" He shook his head and went in for another bite. "_Idiot_," he mumbled in between leisurely chews.

"Yeah. Stop with the whole _talking_ thing, Malfoy. In fact, just stop with the whole _everything_." Harry returned his gaze to Pettigrew and exhaled loudly through his nose. "Okay. Excellent. You've done good here, Pettigrew; you've done good. Now... I'm going to Apparate you back to Auror Headquarters, all right? There, we'll have to formally interview you and then your protection will be arranged by Matthew Drewberry. He's a good friend of mine, and he's the best, the _very_ best. Trust me. You'll be in very safe hands." Pettigrew whimpered but bowed his head and placed his wand on Harry's outstretched palm. "Good." Harry pocketed the wand, placed a hand lightly on Pettigrew's shoulder and then lifted his brows. "So. Are we ready to get going?"

Strangely, both Pettigrew _and _Malfoy nodded promptly in response to that.

oooo

"Malfoy? What the…?"

Harry hadn't realised they had a tag along until they'd arrived at headquarters, walked part of the way down the long corridor, and Harry had spotted a figure on the other side of Pettigrew. A blond figure; a blond figure who was bouncing along with every step he took. A blond figure who was strutting towards the interview room alongside Harry and Pettigrew like he was meant to be there.

Oh, _Merlin!_ Malfoy must have grabbed onto Pettigrew at the last second, leaving Harry in the dark until they got there. But Harry stopped dead as soon as he saw him. "Malfoy? What are you _doing_ here?!" he'd growled.

Malfoy looked at Harry suddenly and absurdly at that, like Harry was clearly mad for even _asking_ the question. "So we could process the prisoner, of course." Malfoy jabbed a thumb repeatedly towards the shaking figure beside him. "Honestly, Potter. Why do you think?"

"What? Just--" Harry scrunched up his face. "For starters, he's a _witness_--not a prisoner, you idiot! And--and," Harry muttered, feeling a bit flustered, "secondly; when did you decide you were a fully fledged Auror?"

"Well..." Malfoy paused thoughtfully, and then he actually began to look up at Harry a bit brightly... and--and even _hopefully_. "Mostly around the time that I saw that you... needed my help. And I... being the person that I--I am... couldn't ignore it... and so... I decided to answer your call." He gave a shaky laugh and then shrugged in a manner that almost seemed nervous. But Harry was not amused and Malfoy saw it. He suddenly exclaimed in impassioned tones: "To--to do what I could, Potter! I was doing what I _could_! Just--_all_ that I could! All I could _think_ of!"

Harry recoiled at his words. What in Merlin's name was Malfoy talking about...? But perplexed as he may have been with Malfoy, it didn't stop him from being angry with the idiot, _really_ angry.

Malfoy had tagged along, without permission, on an _official Auror Apparition_!

His eyes drilled into Malfoy to ensure the twerp knew it. This was no 'game'. This was his _job_! And this was a place of _magical law enforcement_--where they caught and detained the darkest of witches and wizards! It was not some bloody Quidditch pitch, and--and not some back corridor in Hogwarts where playing schoolboy mind games was in some way 'fair game'. This was _serious_.

"What? What?" Malfoy said defensively, wiggling under Harry's concentrated scrutiny. "I--you--just... it was all part of my voluntary assistance program, Potter. You... you _know_ this! And I'm--I'm seeing it as a_ fluid _program at present. I go with... with where the need takes me. Sure... I _could_ stop at assessing the Ministry's food or--or sharing my future vision, but where would _that_ leave the Ministry? Where would that leave wizarding-kind? ...Where--where would that leave _you_?"

"What? _Me_?"

Pettigrew looked from Harry to Malfoy and then back to Harry and then Malfoy again. Harry didn't exactly blame him. This was _insane_.

_Malfoy_ was insane.

Harry waved Pettigrew into the room so he could sort this out alone.

"Malfoy?" Harry said quietly.

"Yes?" he replied in the same quiet voice, leaning a shoulder on the wall across from the door to the interrogation room.

Harry raised an arm and pointed directly behind the other man. "Out."

Malfoy looked shocked. "What? But--"

"OUT," Harry suddenly boomed.

Malfoy's froze and his eyes enlarged at Harry's loud and forceful tone. He wet his lips and looked away, but he didn't move.

"_NOW_, Malfoy," Harry continued.

Malfoy scowled up at him and began to depart--slowly. So slowly that snails could beat him. Harry groaned in frustration as he watched Malfoy nearly dragging his feet along the floor, his head drooping low on his neck and his feet scuffing up the polished surface of the floor. And then Malfoy suddenly rushed a foot towards a wall, kicking it fiercely with his shoe. Harry felt a new burst of rage at that, tightening his grip on the door. But thankfully, Malfoy's foot did not leave a mark.

Harry watched the other man almost reach the end of the corridor. But just as Harry was about to close the door and shut the other man out and turn off all the confusion, Malfoy spun around and yelled out, "But what about the Elder Wand?"

Harry's hand froze on the door and his eyes darted back towards Malfoy.

"Harry...? The _Elder Wand_! The _Elder Wand_!" His face creased; he looked at Harry resolutely. "We were a team… Harry? A _team_!"

Wait.

Hold on--_that's_ what Malfoy actually thought...? That they were a team?

What? During _the war_...?

Harry stared flatly at him. Malfoy's eyes were large and shiny and his chest was heaving in and out; and there was something else--_there_--in his eyes. Something that was swimming in and around them, filling them up, flooding them, and soaking them, and leaving Malfoy looking like he could well drown in whatever it was.

Harry blinked in the vacuum of things making sense. Confusion and disbelief rained heavily down on him. He swallowed roughly, not entirely sure why, and looked away.

They--they weren't 'a team'.

_God_. Of _course_ not.

How could Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy--Draco _Malfoy_--ever be considered as anything even _remotely_ of the kind...? Then, now, or--or _ever_?

Harry frowned at a patch of nothing on the doorframe, right above his fingers. Then he ran a hand unsteadily through his hair, and shook his head of it. Shook his body of it. And finally, shook his _whole mind_ of it.

Harry didn't know _what_ planet Malfoy was on; but he wished him luck there, wherever 'there' was.

He turned away from Malfoy's strangely compelling form and closed the door.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Harry Apparated directly underneath the lighthouse in time to see a large sheet of water crash over the top of the raised and rocky shoreline and splash towards him, drops of water flinging everywhere. With a laugh, he raised an arm and whipped his head away from the spray as fast as he could.

But the damn water still got him. He wiped the drops from the side of his face with a light chuckle and then wisely stepped away from the water's edge, navigating his way up a small incline that faced the tall white tower.

The weather was gorgeous for early June: a shockingly vivid blue sky, and a few white puffs of cloud floating drowsily through the air. A cool breeze was about though, smarting Harry's cheeks, kissing his nose, and gently lifting his hair. He liked it a little chilly--it made him feel alive, but he was still thankful he'd worn his coat.

He paused half-way up the opposing hill and, turning, cocked his head backwards to look up at the lighthouse above.

...If he wanted to flush Mulciber out, there was some magic he'd have to do first.

Concentrating, he reached out with his mind to confirm the presence of a human inside. Affirmative; Mulciber was in there all right. Badly injured, too... by the feel of him. With a subtle wave of his hand, Harry then cast several wards around the lighthouse to prevent Mulciber from exiting in any other way than right through the main front door and out towards Harry. Injured or not, Harry knew that Mulciber would probably detect the new magic and know he was no longer alone. Once Harry was satisfied he'd set up the perfect combination of barriers, he turned and leisurely climbed the rest of the way up the hill, arriving at the perfect spot to sit and wait.

It was a nice rocky ledge, covered in soft grass and just a stone's throw away from the very top.

He dropped his bag on the ground, lowered his bottom onto the flat area and breathed in the salty sea air. His eyes drifted towards the horizon and then towards the land either side of him. He spotted tall and dark jagged cliffs and long stretches of velvet-like grass covering soft, undulating land and hundreds of white frolicking birds dotted across the landscape and tufts of blond hair bobbing up and down along the crest of the hill to his right. Wait. Say - _what_?

He watched as the long and soft-looking spikes drifted across the blades of grass in an up and down fashion, coming closer and closer into view. Then a head appeared beneath the hair, and soon a body beneath that too.

It was Malfoy, of course. Malfoy was coming towards him. Again.

"Oh, _no_," Malfoy's voice rang out from across the distance in a tone that was surely feigned astonishment and disgust. After all, Malfoy's smirk was already in full flight as he climbed the hill--climbed the hill with too much enthusiasm and eagerness for anyone at anytime of the day, his eyes alive: dancing and bright. "_Again_ with being everywhere _I _want to be, Potter?!" he called out. He heaved himself over several grassy mounds. "And... again with the _sitting_? What is this?" His eyes sparkled playfully as he made his way over. "New Ministry protocol for fighting the good fight? Ha! I knew they needed my help. And this proves it, Potter; it explains so much."

Harry sighed quietly and held back on a dry chuckle. "You'd be surprised how well it actually works."

Draco took a seat--right next to Harry--and raised two disbelieving brows as he fixed his eyes on him. "Seriously?" he asked and rested back on his elbows. His foot promptly swung into motion... though it's flight through the air was less confident, and oddly, Harry noticed.

Harry nodded at Malfoy. "It's a rare day when I have to do something other than sit to catch a wizard or witch. Only the incredibly stupid tend to make a run for it. Those with at least half a brain try to at least enter into some sort of bargain."

"You mean…" An eyebrow perked upwards. "...Pettigrew had half a brain?" Malfoy smirked.

Harry nodded, his mouth slowly spreading into a wry grin. "He's a genius compared to most."

Malfoy's brows raised once more--"Hm."--and then lowered.

They sat and watched the water spray over the rocks in amicable silence, Malfoy's foot still carrying a beat though it's rhythm was less buoyant.

Harry gazed at the ocean, wishing he'd seen more of it as a child. But perhaps the fact that he hadn't meant that its magic over him was still strong. It never failed to mystify and enthrall him. Its vastness and its impossible shade of turquoise... Deep blue-green. The moving surface, its dark and mysterious depths... They always left him musing about what lay beneath. A whole other world, Harry suspected; a whole other world that was unclear, though he'd love to see it all the same. In fact, if he really thought about it, he could probably have a fairly accurate guess as to what moved beneath it all.

And then, suddenly, something clicked. He thought... he thought he might actually be starting to 'get' it.

_'Get'_ Malfoy.

The things he was saying in Harry's office on Monday... Appearing in the staff lunch area... All the talk of the Elder Wand... Malfoy, there at every twist and turn... following Harry around...

Harry sat up. "So, do you--" he said abruptly. He paused to slow and soften his voice: "Do you... do you want to be... an Auror now? Is... is that it?"

He glanced sideways at Malfoy who was sitting there quietly, his leg no longer swinging. "Because, if you you do... you know... Rose has some forms you can fill out for that. Some application forms. They're fairly straight forward, really straight forward. I mean, after all--" Harry snorted a little "--even _I_ could do them."

Harry's eyes sought out Malfoy for his response. Malfoy sort of nodded, but then... he sort of _didn't_, all at the same time.

Harry watched him curiously, but he received no sign that he was on the wrong track. "You should know... The training's been shortened. That means, you wouldn't have to wait too long to get out there. And--and more good news, Malfoy? More _very_ good news? Well. You wouldn't even need to stalk _me_ to become one." Harry chuckled. "Which means, if you really want to get a--a _feel_ for the job, there are plenty of other Aurors to follow about... you know… some you of whom you might even actually, heh, _like_."

Malfoy remained silent.

The sound of waves crashing surrounded them.

"Who's Rose?" Malfoy eventually asked, his nose wrinkling upwards.

Harry smirked. "Why, she's only the woman you keep charming to let you into Headquarters, you _idiot_!"

Malfoy began to snigger lightly at that. "Oh," he then said. "Her."

"Yes; _her_. Honestly, Malfoy. She might seem like an old dear to you but she's likely to get us all bloody _killed_ one day! Shacklebolt doesn't know _what_ to do." Harry glanced at Malfoy. "And all she ever talks about is _you_."

Malfoy's mouth slipped into a cheeky grin. "Well. I _am _gorgeous."

Harry groaned and laughed. And laughed and groaned. And Malfoy joined him on the chuckling side of things.

The swinging foot moved happily through the air once more, and for once, Harry didn't mind. Malfoy actually looked peaceful and extremely content whenever he did it. And, strangely, the picture Harry had of Malfoy in his mind now looked incomplete without it. "Look," Harry murmured softly. "I'll pick you up... an application form... on the way out today. Okay…? And I'll--I'll Owl it to you... tonight. All right...?"

Malfoy said nothing, so Harry pushed on.

"The next intake is in another month I think." Harry breathed in deeply and let the smell of the sea warm him. Harry turned his face towards Malfoy. "Malfoy? I'll even--I'll even--" he paused and exhaled softly, "I'll even put in a good word for you… with Shaklebolt... Okay?"

Malfoy hesitated at first, and then shrugged one shoulder up lightly at that. But he was smiling to himself: smiling softly. He lay back on the grass and closed his eyes, his mouth still turned upwards, his foot doing what clearly made it most happy.

And Harry could only sit and watch.

TBC... 


	6. Chapter 6

Harry hadn't realised he'd been staring at Malfoy lightly dozing until the idiot roused and pushed himself back up onto his elbows, breaking Harry's curious trance.

Malfoy massaged his tired eyes and blinked himself awake. "So... What are we eating this time around?" he asked groggily, and then inclined his head backwards to release a tiny yawn. His head snapped back upright and he rubbed his minutely distended belly. "Although those two sandwiches of yours from earlier were quite filling, Potter, I'm still feeling a bit peckish. What'd you bring for dessert?"

Before Harry could even manage a proper groan and bid a sad farewell to a normal working day, Malfoy was sitting up and leaning over and reaching for Harry's bag. "Oh, by all means help yourself, Malfoy," Harry grumbled, but he also released a tiny bubble of laughter.

Malfoy's mouth twitched at one corner as he fiercely yanked Harry's knapsack towards him. "Don't mind if I do, Potter."

Harry was then forced to sit and watch, a little bemused, as Malfoy rustled through his bag as if he owned it, muttering the whole way: "...Receipts, lolly wrappers--honestly; what a _mess_, Potter!--paperwork, magazines, and wait..." He looked up at Harry and held something up in his hand in alarm. "A _Snitch_?! Merlin... you've got everything under the _sun_ in here, Potter!" And off he went again, head bent, continuing on with the rifling.

Harry listened with half a smile perched on his lips, distantly wondering what he did to deserve Malfoys who went through his personal belongings and Malfoys who ate his food and Malfoys who merrily swung their legs as often as they could and Malfoys who slept soundlessly on the grass with their lips softly parted, their eyelids rapidly fluttering, and their pale neck arched back and wildly exposed. Not to mention Malfoys that were, apparently, so damned determined to become Aurors and so damn committed to their future job that they were yet to depart an Aurors-only scene after much helpful Auror-application talk.

"_Hazzah_! Chocolate Frogs! You were holding out on me, Potter." He punched Harry lightly in the arm and then began to make a little stockpile of frogs beside his body; that being the side of his body that was well _away_ from Harry.

Harry glared at him comically. "Can I at least have _one_ of my own Chocolate Frogs?"

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Yes. I _suppose_."

Harry caught the flying packet and began to tear it open. "So, tell me," Harry began, only just stopping the frog from leaping off into the air, though he squashed a leg in the process and cringed. He'd never quite gotten over how life-like the bewitched chocolates actually were. "Have you got a tracking spell on me today, or something...? I've tried to use my magic to sense it, but I can't seem to detect a thing..." He popped the chocolate into his mouth and savoured the taste as it melted away.

"No, " Malfoy replied, distracted by his own frogs; all fifteen of them. "I just asked that woman..."

Harry licked his lips. "What woman?"

"You know… that one who loves me," he commented absently, erecting Mount Frog-more and stopping to look lovingly at it once he was done.

"You mean _Rose_?" Harry smirked.

The sculpture collapsed when Malfoy selected a frog from the top, making Malfoy look crestfallen. But all pain was clearly gone as he reached for the nearest frog packet and began to rip it open with free abandon. "Yeah. That one," Malfoy said, dropping a wiggling frog into his mouth and then munching away happily, his jaw moving at a dizzying speed far beyond the capabilities of most humans.

"Wait. _Rose_...? She told you where I was? When I was out of the office? As in each and every time?"

Malfoy licked a Chocolate Frog wrapper with serious dedication, ensuring he got every last bit of chocolate. "Yeah."

Harry shook his head from left to right. "Oh, that _does_ it. She is so _fired_."

"Don't you _dare_, Potter!" he exclaimed angrily, swiftly dropping his hands and the wrapper to his lap. "Do you _know_ how little that last one let me get away with?" he asked, his eyes wild and his hands hitting the air above his head to demonstrate just how annoyed poor old Graham doing his actual job apparently made him. "Honestly! He was awful! _Awful_! Never did half of what I asked, did he?" Harry gave Malfoy a barbed look, which Malfoy, of course, promptly ignored. "Always spoke of the stupid rules like he couldn't have a unique thought of his own! What an _imbecile_! Only gave in after much... persuasion!" He exhaled sharply and went on: "I tell you... I've never known of a more--" he sought for the perfect word "--_incompetent_ receptionist!"

Harry choked on a dry laugh. _And_ his sanity. He rubbed his forehead roughly. Maybe... maybe Malfoy wasn't cut out for this line of work. After all, he was all _kinds_ of immoral--_and_ cunning. He'd probably stumble on the first four words of the Auror oath alone! 'I solemnly swear to.' Harry could almost _see_ it now: Malfoy, up on stage with ten others at their graduation ceremony. About to pledge honesty and to act, at all times, with good intentions. Malfoy finally reading the words on the paper they'd shoved into his hands. All Hell suddenly breaking loose. It was positively _frightening_.

"I mean... _Ha_!" Malfoy continued. "The idiot obviously wasn't gay, was he?" he sullenly and oddly added. "Well, he can't have been, can he? No way; that's for sure. And, _Merlin_, did that complicate matters. Although..." His ranting slowed. "I think by the end of it all…?" A smirk reawakened on his face. "I _nearly_ turned him, didn't I?!" He chuckled wickedly at that, his head tilting back in sheer delight, his eyes scrunched shut, his neck stretched out, and his hair flipping about in the wind.

And then he ripped open another Chocolate Frog packet like it might vanish if he waited a second longer.

Harry watched him with growing concern. Well, more than normal. "You are _atrocious_, Malfoy. Atrocious, and _weird_." Harry sighed, and looked to the horizon, which had grown hazier than before. "I don't even know _where_ to begin…" It was true. He didn't; didn't know where to begin when it came to Malfoy, and most especially, he didn't know where to end. He didn't know where _any_ of it would end. The man was a walking, talking, frog-eating mystery. Even after unraveling a little of what befuddled Harry, there was still a lot that didn't entirely add up. Such as the still_ being here_, for example. Did he want a hand in the glory of catching a badly injured criminal that much...? Obviously.

"Oh, I am not, Potter. I am far from atrocious. I'm _helpful_; that's what I am." His mouth kicked into gear and he beamed at the ocean, with a wistful tilt of his head. "Helpful with the Elder Wand, helpful with that rat of a man, and now...? I'll be helpful with this other idiot, too." He waved a hand impatiently towards the lighthouse.

"Oh, _really_?" Harry couldn't help but get just a little smarmy--just for the fun of it. "And just how do you propose to do_ that_, Malfoy?" He soon regretted his words.

"Well. Like this." Malfoy took out two newspapers which were apparently squashed in his back pocket. Then Malfoy rolled them together with much eagerness animating his face. He lay back on the grass soon after, raised the thick roll in his hands, and held it to his mouth, calling out: "Come out, come out wherever you are… oh injured _stupid_ evil one! We know you're _in _there!"

Oh, _Merlin_. Harry buried his face in his hands for a moment wondering how on earth he was going to write _this_ up in his case report, never mind the Side-Along Apparition from earlier. "Wow. Gee, _thanks_, Malfoy. You've been a great help."

Malfoy nodded, closing his eyes under the warm rays of the sun. He shifted and slipped the newspapers behind his head, using them now as a makeshift pillow. "You're welcome." His eyes suddenly opened. "Oh! Want me to toss a rock at the lighthouse, too?"

"No." Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Surprisingly, I do_ not_ want you to toss a rock at the lighthouse too."

"Well. Where do you want me to toss it then?" he asked already holding up a rock.

What - where on earth did he get _that_? Harry chuckled fathomlessly. "Nowhere, Malfoy. I want you to toss it nowhere." As confusing as the blond wannabe-Auror was, he was certainly more amusing than Harry had ever thought; _not_ that Malfoy intended to come across that way. Of that, Harry was quite certain.

"Oh." Malfoy's forehead dented in disappointment and he lowered his rock-filled hand. "Well then... suit yourself." He dropped the rock and felt around for his pile of Chocolate Frogs once more.

And then Harry almost fell off the cliff when Malfoy flew upright and cried out: "AHH! Oh my... A Harry Potter card...?! Oh my--it's you! It's _you_! Bahahahahaha!" he laughed, rolling backwards on the grass, clutching his stomach, his cheeks going pink. "Oh my--oh my--a _Potter_ card! Oh! _Oh_!" he gasped. "Look at you, look at you!" He held it out to a disinterested Harry while wiping his eyes. "Oh, _oh_. This one is, of course, going straight into the bin, Potter. Heh heh..."

"Wonderful," Harry commented flatly. He didn't care if Malfoy used it as a stand-in voodoo device or as a target for jinx practice. Well, maybe he did. Just a little. But then Harry could have sworn Malfoy did nothing of the sort. He was sure, almost one hundred percent sure, that he instead saw Malfoy roll onto his side, take a handkerchief out of his pocket, polish some chocolate off the card, and then fold the card carefully in the cloth before gently slipping the now wrapped package back into his pocket, and rolling onto his back, his hands returning to their spot beneath his head, as if it never happened. Harry flinched and then shook his head to clear it of all hallucinations.

"So what are we doing now?" Malfoy then asked.

"Nothing. You're not doing anything."

"Says who?"

"Well, _me_... a whole of team of Aurors... the Head of the Auror Division... our Minister for Magic... and about two dozen wizards who proposed the laws in the first place."

"But I've had chocolate. _Lots_ of it," he whined. "With all that sugar, I'm primed and ready, Potter. Ready to roll... ready to hit the ground. Ready to--ready to flourish that wand and--and blast someone from here into beyond!" He chuckled. "Rhymed--it _rhymed_! Heh heh. Ready to... fight the fight and win the war! Ready to... battle and _roar_!" He punched a fist into the air to complete his vicious war-cry… from the horizontal comfort of his plush grass bed. "And...? Not only am I ready to fight, Potter? But... I'm on _your_ side! Ha!" He rolled over to face Harry, arm hitched and head resting on fist, his eyes as cheeky as Harry had ever seen them. "_Your_ side... What do you think about _that_, Potter?"

Harry laughed inwardly. As far as all their lawyers were concerned,_ that_ had happened two years ago. "Well," Harry began, dragging his eyes away from Malfoy, and those bloody eyes, and letting the preferred sight of a stark white lighthouse fill his vision once more. "I am of course overjoyed to hear you've crossed over, Malfoy. And I welcome you with open arms." Harry bit back on his desire to release a very tempting snort. "But there _is_ no war," he stretched comfortably. "Not anymore. And I'm fairly certain that there'll be no fighting today either. Not if I can help it."

"Well, how _boring_." But he raised his arms and pillowed them under his head, yawning happily, his legs dangling over the edge of the ledge. Again, he'd never looked more pleased with the world... in spite of all its apparent 'boringness'.

"Yeah, well, I may have killed a man once, but I'd prefer to not repeat it if it's all the same to you. And waiting about is a reality of being an Auror, Malfoy; it's good for you to learn this. With all that paperwork and watching suspects and sifting through pages and pages of evidence, you'll need patience--a lot of patience."

Malfoy appeared to be only half-listening, lying back and chewing on bulging mouthfuls of chocolate and somehow not choking on it--not even a little bit--in spite of the all that gravity. When he finally swallowed his big mouthful, his eyes almost bulged and watered under the pressure.

"It's not a glamorous job by any means, Malfoy."

"Yeah." A big yawn followed. "_Whatever_," he said nonchalantly, confusing Harry even further. Didn't he want to learn...? Maybe Malfoy thought he could actually make it more glamorous. Or maybe--maybe he just didn't want to learn from _Harry_. Yes; _that _was more likely. But then why was he even here?

Harry's thoughts about this went no further when Malfoy suddenly bolted up right. "Oh my… a Ron Weasley card…?! Oh, God. Bahahahaha! A _Weasley _card!" Again he indulged in another laughing fit on the grass, eyes watering and hair--silky and blond--fanned out messily around his head as he rolled and rolled. "Oh! Oh!" he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "This one is definitely going into the bin, too! Oh!"

Harry eyed him carefully this time and noted Malfoy did not retrieve a handkerchief and then delicately fold it up in the soft layers--not even close. Instead, he flicked it away into the air in front of him and pointed his wand out as it hit the ground. "_Incendio_!" he cried and the card burst into flames briefly before their eyes. A moment later, there was nothing but a pile of smoking ash. And Malfoy's endless chuckles.

One day he would understand Draco Malfoy. But probably not anytime soon.

TBC... 


	7. Chapter 7

Malfoy eventually threw a rock. _Four_ of them. Merlin only knows where they all came from.

He turned to the rock strategy after his attempt to use the two rolls of newspaper as binoculars to spy on Mulciber met with some trouble. Such as the fact that they were only _newspapers_. But he had fun with it anyway.

As for the rocks? Well, they delighted him even _more_. He jumped up and down and hollered like he ruled all and sundry when rock number one hit the lighthouse squarely on his very first throw, entirely too pleased with his aim. The second rock went straight through a glass panel up above and Malfoy's victory dance at that became like the joyful yet wild and unsteady motions of a drunken _loon_.

After a third rock hit the glass, his dance almost became... _lewd_.

Harry's eyes were surely three times their normal size as the blond moved about in front of him in a manner that made him sweat just a little more than one ever should in the cool seaside breeze. When Malfoy swung his hip out particularly wide, Harry became mildly concerned that if he stuck around Malfoy any longer, his eyebrows would most certainly set up permanent camp high on his forehead. Right beneath the wrinkled Gully of Malfoy. Established in circa 1991. At the young and tender age of eleven.

The last rock went straight into the water and Malfoy, conveniently, pretended that he didn't even throw a fourth. "Oh, yeah! I'm the greatest! All _threeee_... hit the lighthouse! Oh, yeah, oh yeah! All _threeee_, hit the lighthouse!" he sang out in a silly made-up song.

But, it _worked_--it all bloody _worked_! ...Malfoy's rock-throwing; Malfoy's roars of celebration; Malfoy's bouncing, tribal, hip-swirling, gyrating, grinding-grinding-oh-my-God-will-you-just-_stop_-with-the-grinding? dance of joy. As, mid-hip swirl, the door to the lighthouse cracked ajar and a pair of eyes peered out at them from the darkness inside, stopping Harry from trying to avert his eyes like a shocked Victorian lady and Malfoy from merrily dancing up a storm.

"YES!" Malfoy cried, and then he finished his incomplete hip-swirl and jumped once more, high into the air, to further proclaim his victory. He laughed and planted his bottom back down onto the grassy ledge, a leg kicking into swinging action straight away. "We can _see_ you!" he again called out to a wanted man, his voice rich and smug. "So come out and _'fess_ up!"

Harry groaned at him. "He's got nothing to_ confess_, you idiot. We already know what he's done. We just have to arrest him and then detain him." We. _We_...? Harry turned his groaning on to himself this time, and then stood to his feet. He climbed a few steps down the hill and brandished his wand--not because he needed it, just because it was a sign that he was more than ready to fight, if need be.

"Oh. Well... _come on out and give up_ then!" Malfoy instead yelled to the figure in the shadows.

And…? Even _that_ worked, too. Harry shook his head.

Question: What was stranger than a Malfoy following you around on important Auror business like he belonged there? Answer: A Malfoy _showing you how it's done_.

Mulciber's head, curious and grey, leaned further out the door at Malfoy's words, his eyes dark and venomous flattened circles on an angry, vicious face. "Now, _Potter_," he spat. "What makes you think I'm going to come quietly?" His burnt hand, bony and shriveled, wrapped around the doorway, affecting the picture of a Dementor in Harry's mind. Harry almost shivered.

"Because you have the two people responsible for killing the Dark Idiot right in front of you…" Harry glanced back at Malfoy over his shoulder. "...one of whom is sitting and eating Chocolate Frogs as if you're as threatening as a _kitten_," Malfoy stated, happily licking chocolate off his fingers and not even bothering to look Mulciber's way. "_Savvy_?"

Mulciber jerked his head towards Malfoy; his eyes widened in terror and he began to cave in on himself, like he _was_ in fact a scared kitten... caught out in the _freezing rain_.

_Huh_, Harry thought for not the first time that day, his mouth going a little dry, while behind him Malfoy devoured what was, at best guess, his twelfth Chocolate Frog in a row. And Harry... Harry thought that there was something to be said for the relaxed strategies of a die-hard narcissist; for a person who had complete confidence in everything he'd ever do working perfectly, every time, without a hitch.

Harry, of course, would rather die a _violent and painful death!_ before he'd ever tell Malfoy anything of the kind: "Why thank you, Malfoy. In spite of thinking you're mad, it turns out that you really are quite gifted at all of this. No, really; you are. Please. Show me how to do this Auroring thing, if you'd be ever so kind."

He'd offered to send Malfoy an application form, and put in a good word; that was more than enough, wasn't it...? Malfoy didn't need Harry's overt affirmation and approval.

Of course, if Malfoy wanted to chat with Harry, now and then... you know, about 'Auror things'? Well, that might be okay as well. Overall, Harry supposed he didn't mind the idiot too much. Something had changed in that respect for Harry today.

But at that moment, Mulciber--the criminal mastermind who was startled by Chocolate Frog-eating--hobbled over in defeat, looking like a frail old man now that he was out in the sun. And he _was_ badly burnt; Pettigrew wasn't lying about that. His skin was blistered and skewed. Half his face now drooped like a spent wax candle and his arm was black and blistered beyond recognition.

Harry locked down on his stupid runaway sympathy--what an _idiot_--there'd be none of _that_ where Mulciber was concerned. Honestly... Just because he'd gone and gotten himself _burnt_?! Instead Harry reminded himself of who he was dealing with here. Mulciber was no Voldemort, but he was still an evil slug.

Harry widened his stance, firmed his jaw and growled menacingly at the criminal before him, lowering his voice to its most ominous depth, even feeling it rumble and vibrate through his very own _skin_. "DROP... YOUR... WAND," he said with unwavering intensity. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at Mulciber and finished with: "_NOW_."

In his 'all business' mode, he ignored the breathy, "Whoa..." that came from behind him, and stared the old man down, wand aimed unmoving at Mulciber's heart.

Mulciber dropped the thin piece of wood immediately, like it was hot and scorching in his already burnt hands. Then he shuffled slowly towards Harry, wincing with each step. He raised his skeletal hands above his head as he moved, releasing a sigh and saying, "All right. All right. I give up."

Harry began to recite the usual words of arrest as he cast magical binds on Mulciber. They'd been chasing Mulciber for months. This had been a productive day.

Then he heard Malfoy rip open another chocolate frog and exclaim: "Oh! Another Weasley card...?! Oh! Oh! It's my lucky day! Oh! Bahahahaha!"

Harry looked at Mulciber and saw the fear in Mulciber's eyes double at that.

It possibly even _tripled _when Malfoy called out, "_Incendio_!" and Harry saw flames alight in the glassy reflection of Mulciber's eyes, followed by a wisp of smoke.

Perhaps Mulciber was onto something; there was something about Malfoy that was oddly disarming, and unsettling, and--and even _frightening_. Only Harry wasn't entirely sure if he and Mulciber were on the same page as to 'why.'

TBC... 


	8. Chapter 8

Harry hadn't planned on doing it; he really hadn't. But right now, moments before the chance would be surely lost--with Malfoy still jiggling about on the grassy ledge behind him, excitedly muttering his achievements (which, incidentally, had turned to: "All _seven_, hit the lighthouse... I'm the _greatest_… Oh yeah, oh _yeah_…"), with the last of the chocolate nearly spilling out one side of his mouth--that was suddenly and shockingly exactly what Harry wanted to do.

And Harry knew he wouldn't leave until he did it. ...Until he _said_ it.

The Elder Wand... the sandwich eating... the chocolate frogs... the--the damn _rocks_. Together, they were all swimming around in his mind, like pools of Veritaserum, as clear as deionised water. Cool and calming. He could see the liquid clearly in his mind's eye, and it was swirling and mixing with something else… another potion, this one strangely familiar and coloured like smooth ice, like whipped cream... only more shiny, and pearlesque, with curls of smoke rising from its surface and tangling in the air… stilling him deep inside, the effects odd and unexpected.

He ensured the magical binds were in place on Mulciber, taking much longer than he needed to--checking them more than once, more than twice, and then more than thrice--before turning to Malfoy and reconnecting their eyes. And Harry knew: his gaze was strangely soft, and open, and--and honest, with a man he used to_ hate_.

Harry wet his lips and stared at Draco. He thought he'd known him, having butted heads with him through the most critical years of his life. So, maybe he did... but then, maybe, in other ways, he didn't.

But it didn't matter; it was all different now. Years and minutes and seconds seemed to pass; life, the very fabric of time, and memories all turned to liquid, melting and blurring into a new sense of_ Now_… and of _Him_… Of _Them_… and of _This_.

Mulciber was grumbling about 'bloody Malfoys' and how they always went and betrayed their Dark Lords. Harry hit Mulciber with a Silencing Charm without even turning or thinking twice about it.

Then Harry did it, he _did_ it. He gave Malfoy a small but sincere and very present nod.

Then Harry said it, he _said _it:

"Thanks," Harry breathed. "Malfoy…? Just--" His head gave Malfoy another curt but clear nod. "_Thanks_."

Pigs were flying today. Pigs. Pink ones. Loads of them. All wearing brightly coloured tutus.

Draco's head instantly lowered at Harry's words, his eyes averted and clouded and unreadable.

Harry took in another steadying breath. "…For the Elder Wand... and... and for Pettigrew." Harry denied his eyes the desire to blink; instead he held them open and held his gaze on Malfoy. "And... for this."

Draco was still throughout it all: hands in his pockets, head slanted, expression thoughtful, and eyes resting on shifting blades of grass--not moving a muscle all the way through. Once Harry had finished, Draco's head lowered even further, hair concealing his eyes, the top of his blond head now mostly visible. After endless seconds, Malfoy lifted his head back up to face Harry, his eyes smiling and shining and full. "Anytime, Potter," he said. He slowly smirked; the twinkles began to reappear in his eyes. "_Anytime_," he remarked casually and airily, as if it were all in a day's work for him to turn up out of the blue and help catch the bad guys, by way of super chocolate-eating powers and lazy, off-handed threats to one's life.

Draco Malfoy: the Superhero of Stalking and Surprise, with powers so great they were known to none other.

"So." Malfoy jumped down from the ledge and began to move towards Harry and Mulciber with a cool, playful swagger to his walk, hips swinging cockily once more as he moved. "Shall we escort the prisoner back to headquarters, or what?" he asked rhetorically, with an excited smirk.

Harry sighed inwardly. _Oh, no_…

Malfoy obviously loved this whole Auror business to bits--_loved _it--even more than Harry had first thought. ...Adored it so much that he couldn't even handle not being a part of this--a part of each and every step, each and every aspect of the job.

Malfoy was obviously determined to see it _all_ through.

But travelling with a prisoner and a fake-Auror, on purpose? Well, that was more than just a little illegal. And Harry...? Harry couldn't do it.

"No, Malfoy," he whispered to the man who was now staring out into the distance with a wonderfully pleased and somewhat wistful expression. Malfoy's head swung towards him in shock. "We can't. I'm sorry. You can't tag along. You're not allowed."

His wide eyes were fixed on Harry, testing Harry's seriousness and obviously dismayed with what he eventually saw. "Oh…" He cleared his throat. "Well, then how about--how about I get there myself?" He looked away. "...Get there some other way?"

_Oh, Merlin_. "Malfoy...?" Harry's voice was gentle, more gentle than perhaps it had ever been. "Malfoy...? He's a prisoner. A--a _prisoner_. I need to Apparate him right into... a _cell_. And then... I need to charge him, and do some paperwork. Immediately. Right away." Harry pressed his brows together to impart his sincerity on the matter. "Malfoy? There's... there's _nothing_ for you to do. I'm--I'm sorry." Harry hitched his shoulders slowly, but his own face was now lowered and grim, and his eyes could not meet the others. "That's just how it works." Harry said it so quietly that he almost didn't hear himself.

When he looked up again, it was to see Malfoy frowning and looking into the distance. The sky was cloudier now and the sea was moody: waves clashed and crashed against each other. The whole sea seemed to churn. The breeze picked up at that moment and tore through the grass. Malfoy glanced back at Harry a moment later; the wind whipping through his hair now, making soft blond strands lift and stand on end and swirl around his head. His eyes were intense and--and even _sad_.

He was a palette of grey. A study in the tones of one pale, sunless colour.

Winter had arrived early this year, and it was standing right in front of Harry.

Harry almost felt himself suddenly stumble, though he wasn't even moving nor did he move--or even _intend_ to. But it still felt like Harry had tripped nevertheless; like he'd fallen and lost his footing, and wasn't quite standing straight or upright anymore. "We have to go," Harry said hoarsely.

Malfoy slipped his hands into his pockets and looked down at the ground, rubbing a groove in the dirt with the edge of his shoe. He nodded once, and then, after some hesitation and the tight pressing together of his lips, a second time.

"I'm sorry… I'm…" Harry whispered, and then placed a hand on Mulciber's shoulder and let the familiar feeling of Apparition roll over him and press against his skin, violently sucking him into a hole that felt too suffocatingly small.

"...sorry."

oooo

"DRACO!" Harry screamed as soon as they landed in the padded cell, Mulciber rolling over and hitting a wall under the force of momentum and maybe even under the force of Harry's premature release--he was so furious with Malfoy that he'd let go of Mulciber's arm a split-second too soon.

But it had all happened in a flash: there was Malfoy; a--a picture of loneliness. And--and heartache. And Harry felt for him; he'd actually _felt_ for him!

And then_ this_. At the final second, Malfoy had lunged forward, blatantly ignoring Harry's expressed--and painfully sincere--wishes. With a hand firmly around Harry's wrist, he'd journeyed through space with Harry--he'd deliberately tagged along with no thought of anyone but himself and himself alone. And he'd killed a little piece of Harry in the process.

Harry could have kicked himself. What had he been thinking--what had he been _thinking_? That a Malfoy could change his spots, his stripes?! That a Malfoy could respect and understand a Potter and let him just _be_?

Mulciber moaned and heaved himself slowly onto his unsteady feet, rubbing his sore back, while Malfoy sheepishly dusted himself off and, partly turned away, looked up at Harry, guiltily, out of the corner of his eye.

Harry stood there, enraged: fists by his side, body taut, angry and disappointed eyes just _nailing_ into Malfoy; they pierced into the pale skin and blond hair of Malfoy's bowed head, not even wavering in the slightest when a pink blush began to spread across Malfoy's cheek and neck.

Malfoy kicked one of the bars lightly with his shoe and eventually asked in a small voice, "So…" The blush become blotchier and a deeper shade of red. "What now?"

Harry closed his eyes. "What now?" Harry repeated coldly.

Malfoy gave a half-chuckle that sounded desperate and lacked confidence. "Yeah." Malfoy raised eyes that were somewhat eager and maybe even smiling a little. He was apparently attempting to 'lighten' the mood.

"Now…?" Harry turned and nodded to the outside guard and, hand on Malfoy's lower back, guided him out of the cell, leaving Mulciber behind. "Now? You go home, Malfoy," Harry said in a voice more distant and wobbly than it should have been. He turned a corner with Malfoy, hurriedly tugging him along by the arm, and headed towards Rose's front desk. Rose spotted Malfoy and began to giggle until she saw the harsh look on Harry's face; she immediately scooted off in the opposite direction, towards the tearoom. "You go home," Harry continued. "And you…" He strode towards a cabinet and shuffled some papers about in a drawer. He returned to Malfoy's side with a thin booklet in his hands. "_Here_. You go home, and you fill out that application package." Harry paused and began to blink rapidly, ignoring the strained edge to his voice. "And you--you become an Auror, and perhaps move to… to _Ireland_." Harry turned roughly away. "And you stop stalking me, you stop illegally tagging along on critical Auror business and Auror Apparitions… and you stop _threatening the validity of my arrests_. And then…?" He looked over his shoulder at Malfoy; the two finally meeting eyes. "We all live happily ever after. The end."

TBC…  



End file.
